Amends
by dragonflybeach
Summary: A moment of alcohol fueled introspection. Post s9e10.


All the thoughts, regrets, and self-recriminations swirled together like the scotch in his glass as he twisted his wrist, and like the contents of his glass, they vanished little by little with each swallow, until all that remained was one word, one question.

_"Why?"_

"Why did I waste fifty year old Glencraig on you?" His companion scoffed. "Because I was trying to bring a little culture and sophistication to your utterly base and unrefined life."

"No," he shook his head, and raised it to meet the old demon's eyes. "Why'd you save Sam? Why are you helping us?"

"Firstly, because you let me go free. And because we have common enemies," Crowley spread his hands, leaned back in his chair. "Abaddon. The angels. Once we have the outside threats resolved, the Moose and you and I can go back to our little petty squabbles."

"You could have run," Dean pointed out. "At that NSA post, when you went upstairs alone, your friend could have gotten you out a back door. You could have called in your cronies to attack me and Cas in the lobby. But you didn't. You got the info, and you brought it back to us, and you came along with us."

"What would have been the fun in that?" Crowley asked. "I do love a good adventure, and it was dreadfully boring in that dungeon with no one to play with."

"You're not selling any deals here, so cut the crap." Dean snorted.

Crowley poured each of them another glass of scotch, and stared down into his own drink for a long while.

"I asked Sam where to start, you know," Crowley finally spoke again after a lengthy silence, still looking down to where his hand rested around the tumbler on the table. "Back at the church, I asked him where he started, in seeking redemption. He started with trying to ... " he gestured vaguely. "recompense for all the times he'd let you down. He didn't have any illusions of coming out of that church alive. He was willing to die to show you how sorry he was."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I get that."

"You are the most important person in his world, his soul mate, according to the angels, the one who shares the blood that flows through his veins." Crowley continued.

_"Was,"_ Dean huffed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Was the most important person." Dean grumbled. "Now? No."

"You still are." Crowley shrugged. "He's angry, he's confused, and he's embarassed that he didn't figure it all out, but if you were in mortal danger right this moment, he would come bursting through that door, all guns and knives and salt and testosterone."

Dean huffed again and shook his head, without speaking.

They sipped about half their respective drinks before Dean found his voice again. "So that's what this is all about? You're trying to help Sam get his redemption?"

"No, it's mine," Crowley replied calmly, looking across the room.

"Come again?" Dean cocked his head, eyes wide in disbelief.

"He's right, you know," Crowley took another drink. "You hurt the ones you love the most."

"You're going to have to explain that statement, because if you're saying that you _love_ us ... "

Crowley reached over and gently slapped Dean's head. "Squirrel, you are definitely not the brains of the operation." he sighed. "I had a son, Gavin. And I was shit as a father." He rolled his eyes at Dean's noise of agreement. "Hey, he was shit as a son, too. Sarcastic know it all little bastard, always going on about how I should treat his mum better. He never understood that she didn't want my company any more than I wanted hers. Anyway, the point is, I can't make amends with him, because he's been dead for 300 years. But it occurred to me that there is one other person who shares the blood flowing in my veins."

"Sam," Dean nodded.

"He's got demon blood, or at least he _had_ demon blood, and now I've got his blood." Crowley agreed.

"You really think it's that easy?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Everything you've done, all the people you've hurt, all the lives you've destroyed ... "

"I've admitted that I had a problem, believed that a greater power could redeem me, made an inventory of my mistakes, admitted they were my fault, and started the process of making amends. I'm almost halfway through the Twelve Steps program." Crowley smirked for a moment, and then turned serious. "There is no way to make right all the wrongs I've done. But I made a difference for Sam. And that's all I can do, is try to fix what I can."

Dean nodded, and the two finished their drinks in silence.


End file.
